Ritus Luna
by Spiritua Masquerade
Summary: Ritus Luna: A ritual created by a demon, to return him to life seven millenia later. And little do the heroes know, time is running out. What started in a tragic death ended in a dire struggle for Aselia itself. And this time, they aren't playing.
1. The Tragic Prelude

**Spiritua: **Wow, I was so bored I wrote this early. You're probably reading this about a month or so after I wrote it. Haha. Well, this fic is Ritus Luna. I've been planning it for quite a long time, but I want to finish a couple of fics before I dive into this one. This fic is gonna be absolutely HUGE. As in, over 100 chapters, huge. Probably 105-110, but not entirely sure as of yet. And another thing. Your votes will pretty much decide the pairings. More about that at the end of Chappa 2.

One thing I hate about is the summary restrictions. I'm always just a few words over. Ughh. Therefore, the summary couldn't even begin to do this story justice. So now that you've opened it, give it a try. Please?

And yes, this first chapter is short, it's kinda the prologue in a way. And bear with it, the rest of the fic is not nearly as confusing.

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Chapter One

It was dark that night. The sort of dark that haunted even the most fearless of beings, and sent all those of lesser emotional stature fleeing to their dwellings. It was a new moon, and the darkness was absolute, not even the stars daring to peep through the malevolent cloud cover to shed light upon the land. One would have to be absolutely insane to venture out on such a ominous night...

Yet a single figure crept through the trees. It's footsteps were so soft, they redefined the term 'silent', and it crouched low, it's torso defying gravity with a graceful ease. One wouldn't do justice to the figure's pace to call it a jog; rather, it seemed to be gliding, without the telltale bob of a normal run, and at too quick a speed to be considered completely natural. A cloak obscured the figure's body completely, hiding it's identity and even it's gender, a cloak so black that it blended perfectly with the surrounding darkness.

This was the hunter, or so was it's duty that night. Hunt, locate, kill if necessary. Though, now that the hunter considered it, the term 'bounty hunter' would better suit it, for it was not necessarily a being, but an _object_ that sent the dark figure into the woods that night.

The hunter did not hesitate as it passed by a small woodland house, its lights unusually bright as if to ward off all the demons or evil beings that roamed in such darkness. The house did not worry the hunter; even if they spotted it, a movement among the trees, by the time they could blink and confirm their suspicions, the hunter would be gone once more. That was the last house on the way into the woods, and there were none heading out.

So why would he be all the way out here? That's what the silent figure wanted to know. What more did the woods hold for him? He didn't intend to bury it, did he? Surely he knew better than that. Though he knew not the bounty hunter by name, or vague identity, he knew that the object in his possession was sought after by beings more powerful than himself.

The hunter paused, its cloak swirling to a stop around its legs. Keen eyes scanned the surrounding area, zooming in occasionally on a suspicious-looking spot. This being could see clearly, far better than almost any other being when confronted with the total, smothering darkness. Yet when its search yielded no reward, the being pulled its hood back ever-so-slightly, lifted its nose to the stagnant air, and inhaled as deeply as its lungs could hold. After a moment, piercing eyes snapped open.

He had been through there, not too long ago. At the bounty hunter's former pace, it should catch up to him in no time. Excellent. It took off once more, cloak flaring out behind it for a moment before the it settled into the smooth, gliding gait it had previously moved at. The being knew not _why_ the object in question was so important, nor where the hunter was, nor even its own identity. All it remembered was its immediate past, it's superior telling it to find the one whose scent matched the cloth he revealed to it, a stab of resentment at being treated like a bloodhound, and setting off after the one in question. And the hunter didn't wonder on the matter, as something told it that knowing the truth would only hurt it.

Occasionally, during the long stretches of effortless tracking where the scent was thick, its mind wandered, and in those minutes, a revelation bobbed on the edge of its consciousness. Always, eventually, its mind would stray too close, and a stab of nameless pain would jolt through its mind, though whether the pain was emotional or physical was beyond the hunter's power to tell. Always, when this happened, the hunter would recoil, back into its instinctive tracking.

Suddenly, a rustle was heard. The hunter stopped short, all its senses alert. It was on the edge of a clearing, still hidden by the deepest of shadows. And in the center of the clearing crouched another figure. A man, middle-aged, tall, with hair of light cobalt, and a package tightly in his hands. Even through the roughly-wrapped cloth, the hunter could see a faint cobalt glow. The bounty-hunter had succeeded.

Gliding forward, it drew its weapon to do what it was sent to do. A quick, clean kill, hopefully. It wanted no sound to be made, no dying scream to attract attention to the deed that had been done until the hunter was far from the crime scene.

When half the distance had been closed, the man whirled to face the hunter. Its eyes widened in shock.

Without hesitation, the hunter swung its weapon at the man's neck. It all happened within seconds, so fast that the man could only watch in horror as his deathblow was delivered. Then the wind from the swing blew the hunter's hood from it's head.

The man's eyes widened further still, in horror. "Ra-"

And then it was over. The man's broken body lay in the clearing, and within seconds, both the hunter and the package were gone.

* * *

**Spiritua:** Yes, that was very vague, very nonspecific, and very confusing. As it should be. And due to some confusion from those I've showed this too already, the dead person is _Regal_. Not Yuan. :P 


	2. One At A Time

**Spiritua: **Kay, this is chapter two. I apologize if this is confusing, it may work the way I want, it may not. Hehe. Thanks much for all the reviews. Even if most of them were from people I _forced_ to read it. :P

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Chapter Two

"What is this...?" Though his murmur was almost inaudible, it echoed throughout the empty control room, unnervingly vacant since the soldiers had vacated the premises when the worlds were conjoined. It had been a little over five years since the mana planet had departed from Aselia, though the resident seraph had set it to slowly spiral outward so the life-bearing planet's gravity could keep Derris-Kharlan's movement under control until it's path was certain. He drew closer to the screen in question, auburn bangs falling down to obscure his gaze. For nearly a minute, he gazed at the screen, a pale blueish green color apart from one ominous black spot. After a moment, it spread slightly, then receded, pulsating like a fire-blackened heart.

In one swift, smooth motion, the seraph was across the room, his jaw set with concern and his eyes hastily drawing in the contents of more screens parallel to the first. These were the collections of data from the past couple of days, one per six hours. The first showed nothing, just a pale seafoam-green hue. The second, a small black dot. The third, the black dot had increased to the size of a pen tip. The fourth, it was about half the size as the current reading showed. His eyes narrowed, and he swept back over to the first screen, the one at which he first noticed the abnormality.

"What the hell..." He murmured, trailing off, his eyes hastily darting from the formerly monochrome map of sorts to the many data screens and, when unable to decipher a difference in a hasty enough time to be satisfied, back to the 'map'.

After a moment, he let out a string of curses; why the hell hadn't he thought to put at least _vague_ land masses for reference? Now the seraph was stuck with a potentially dangerous black spot, origin _and_ location unknown.

And Kratos Aurion was _not_ good with being stuck.

Growling under his breath in frustration, he harshly punched a red button. The gravity shift was immediate and almost nauseating, were he not somewhat used to it by that point.

"Emergency reversal activated. Destination: Aselia. Status Report: Printing." Informed a monotone voice, somewhat unisex yet vaguely identifiable as female. Agonizingly slowly, the state-of-the-art computer fed out a long sheet of paper, rows and rows of runes on it's length. After what seemed like a good three months, the faint whirr of action silenced and the lengthy piece of paper fell to the control panel beneath it. With lightning speed, Kratos snatched it up, deftly scanning over the angelic script.

"A large concentration of anti-mana?" He reread a phrase aloud, his brow furrowing. Anti-mana? Where had he heard that before...? Surely Mithos had mentioned it at one point, hadn't he? Yes, in one of his crazy ideas before Cruxis was formed. '_If I could find a holed up store of anti-mana, I could use _that _to fuel my magitechnology! Anti-mana is twice as strong as mana itself, after all. Any idiot knows that.'_ A familiar strident voice played in the seraph's head, confirming his suspicions. Mithos _had_ mentioned it...

But what the hell good did _that_ do him!? All he knew now is that there was anti-mana unlocked, which there hadn't been before, and that anti-mana was very powerful. With another growl of frustration, he drove his fist into the side of the control panel, leaving a good-sized dent in the metal. A slight stab of pain colored his knuckles a light blue, and he knew a bruise would come later. Holding his 'wounded' hand in the other one, the seraph closed his eyes and drew a deep, soothing breath. He knew that frustrated violence solved nothing, yet at the same time, it was hard to keep calm when at that moment, an unknown force could be wreaking havoc on Aselia, and in turn, Lloyd. Two or three more deep breaths, and he reopened his eyes.

"Activate Interworld Warp Portals," he commanded, his voice a good degree calmer than he felt. After a moment, there was a single confirmatory beep.

"Warp Portals Activated." Offered the computer, and a screen flickered on, showing the green and blue planet of Aselia quickly approaching. Kratos watched for a moment, a single short moment. Then he strode over to where his sword sat, resting on the wall. Lifting Flamberge, he hooked it onto his belt, his gaze inadvertently drifting to a tall, blank screen on the opposite wall. From it's surface, his image was reflected back, like a mirror. The human surveyed himself for a moment; having chosen his mercenary uniform over the less comfortable and more symbolic white of Cruxis, he looked just as he had the day he offered to aid the Chosen of Sylvarant on her journey. Nodding in satisfaction, he swept over to the computer, pressing a nearby green button.

"Emergency reversal deactivated. Destination: Orbit." The computer replied faithfully, just as Kratos dashed out the door. Now that Derris Kharlan was back on it's originally set path rather than it's crash course with Aselia, he had minutes, maybe even seconds to make it to the warp point and send himself down.

Pushing aside all thoughts of duty, honor, and all the other morals that had forced him into this isolation, he raced ever-faster, gaze set on a familiar sliding door at the end of the desolate hallway. He realized he wouldn't be able to return, to finish his self-inflicted punishment of sorts, yet that realization was barely a speck in the whirling depths of his thoughts. All that mattered to the mercenary seraph at that moment was to reach the warp portal in time.

He nearly ran headlong into the door, which he then recalled had stopped working automatically nearly a year ago. Furiously punching in the activation code in the panel on the wall to the right, he knew all too well that these seconds might just decide his fate. After what seemed like an eternity, the door slid open, and he leapt inside before it'd even finished.

And there it was. The warp portal, straight ahead, shimmering invitingly. Without a second glance, Kratos leapt into the mana circle, closing his eyes and preparing for the worst. As he felt his body begin to tingle with the agonizingly slow process of warping from world to world, he realized how dangerous this maneuver truly was. What if the mana planet was just barely out of reach? Where would he warp to then? Or worse, what if it got too far from Aselia mid-warp? Would he be spliced between the two worlds? No matter how he thought it out, splicing was a very very unappetizing fate.

With a jolt, he realized that something was wrong. Warping never took _this_ long. And he could almost _feel_ the mana stretching to it's limits, extending as far as it could reach to fulfill his command. And he also realized, by attempting to lift a foot, that he couldn't move. For a moment, the seraph panicked, an occurrence very rarely experienced by this particular human. He knew that his choices were to force his way to Aselia or to die here on the warp portal. Quite obviously, he chose Aselia.

Closing his eyes once more, he reached for his mana, sending it down through his feet into the warp portal to aid it. For a sickening moment, his efforts seemed futile, as if his options were narrowed to death or death. But then, slowly, he felt the warping process resume, gradually gaining strength until his legs seemed transparent beneath him. He'd made it.

And then he was gone. Gone before he could hear the crashing and rumbling of the room he'd previously occupied collapse.

-----

_Alicia,_

_Though all logic tells me that writing a letter to a dead person, especially a letter that will never be sent, is a waste of time that could be spent bettering one's life and surroundings, I find myself penning these words to you regardless. I do not know what force drives me to do this, for I have never strayed from logic before now, but oftentimes things cannot be explained, and one must grow accustomed to that fact. _

_You are my sister. I know that informing you of this is stating what is already known, but I find it is a relevant fact to my lapse in logic. As your sister, I am obligated to inform you of a recent event that you would find very distressing. I know you will not receive this letter, for I do not intend to send it, but I find myself hoping you will somehow read it anyways, however illogical that thought is. _

_I trekked into the forest surrounding Ozette this morning intending to locate and fell a patch of trees suitable for use in the rebuilding of housing quarters. I sought a few that were substantial enough to correspond to many lesser trees, so as to end fewer lives. Since my mind has been released from the Cruxis Crystal, I have found myself doing similar things as this, preserving the feelings and emotions of others. After so long as an apathetic existence, I am still unused to these emotions I myself have gradually begun to experience, even after I have been free for nearly a year. I dislike the confusion it causes, though I am at the same time inquisitive of the nature and extent of this new mental state. I always have been, and I am 80 positive that I always will be, the taciturn girl who gazes out at the world with dull cerulean eyes, who sees everything and nothing, whose very presence unnerves many who are more fragile-minded than she. Yet at the same time, my emotions have begun to interfere with my thought process, and I am feeling more and thinking less. I am currently uncertain as to whether this change is positive or negative; I must first fully comprehend the precision of the change before such judgment can be made. _

_Yet I find myself straying from the initial purpose of this letter, as I have strayed more and more frequently as of late. I do not know if this new mindset is typical of a human, either of my physical age of fifteen or my supposed mental age of twenty-nine. Or of neither, if that is more fitting. Yet I find my time and this letter would be better used to continue my reiteration of the day's events as of yet. _

_I had taken 10,235 steps through pathless forest when something began to appear amiss. I do not quite know what it was, but the forest was noiseless, and I could smell a sharp, acidic aroma that I've identified as blood. Curious and alarmed in equal portions, I ventured toward the scene of transgression. My axe, which was resting 75 percent of it's weight on my shoulder, was gripped more solidly, prepared to fell any danger I encountered. Rather than an aggressor or one with malicious intentions, however, I came upon a scene of fatality. _

_Alicia, my sister, only recently have I been mentally capable of feeling the emotion of love, and I am unsure of if I am correctly comprehending it, but I am almost certain that I love you more than I have ever loved another being. I know that this statement may seem irrelevant to the retelling of recent events, yet I find it highly important to state. It brings me great sorrow—for I can comprehend well the emotion of sorrow, as it was my first to return—to tell you what I must now tell you, for I know it will make you feel similar if not worse sorrow of your own._

_I came upon a clearing. The grass was not green, as grass usually is. The majority of the grass was red. This was due to the fact that there was a large bleeding creature lying in the center in a heap, recognizable as a human, and just as easily recognizable as deceased. I stepped closer, fascinated and slightly aghast. To my surprise and revulsion, I found that the head was disconnected from the neck, though lying so close as to fool any who did not look as close as I. This was murder, I realized. There was a 100 percent chance that this fatality was caused by another. _

_And, my sister, I apologize most sincerely for telling you this, yet if I did not, there would be no point to this letter and I would have wasted this time. But I recognized the body almost immediately. The fallen form belonged to your Regal Bryant. _

_I could not think, only feel. I now am sure that it is due to the mental confusion resulting in my revival from the Cruxis Crystal's effects, though there is a slight possibility that a sight such as the one I witnessed would halt the thought process of any human. Still, I reiterate, I could not think, only feel. _

_My eyes widened in alarm, and I dropped my axe to the ground, all thoughts of wood and rebuilding houses forgotten in the midst of the tragedy before me. I was horrified, sickened, and grief-stricken, all at once. I now solemnly tell you how incredibly painful such a concoction of emotions can become. All logic had left me, and, though I know the proper thing to do would have been to obtain aid, to call the authorities to the scene, I did not know that then. I felt numb, as one would feel after sitting unclothed in a snowdrift for approximately 45 minutes. I cannot explain why I felt how I did, and I doubt I will ever be able to. _

_I stumbled backwards, all sense of balance and poise vanished, and caught myself on one knee. My eyes were locked on the atrocity before me, and never before have I so strongly desired to look away from a sight as this one. I find it ironic slightly, that I could not look away from the thing I most desired to, but now is no time for humor, even dry versions of so._

_I do not know how long I sat there. Others came, nameless, faceless beings. I may or may not have imagined their words. Murmurings of 'Martel help us' seemed most frequent, echoing from every mouth and mind around me. _

'_What happened?'_

'_Someone was murdered!'_

'_Did she do it? That disturbing girl?'_

'_Indeed, she must have!'_

'_No, her axe is dry, leave her be.'_

'_Fools, this is Presea Combatir, of the Aselian Heroes! Surely you didn't blame her for even a moment?' _

'_Make sure the children steer clear, this is not for young eyes.'_

'_Everyone, this is Nobleman Bryant, of the Lezorano Company!'_

'_Alert the royal knights, the one responsible may still be close!'_

_Yes, now I am certain these voices were real. Imagination is not one of my stronger points, though I'm sure it will recover as the rest of me has with time. Still, there is less than a 1 percent chance that I could have concocted these voices in my head. I did not move, not even my gaze, even as the blame was forced upon me. I did not speak. I barely even breathed, however illogical ceasing breath would be. Through some force unknown to me, I was physically unable to do anything but stare in horror at the slaughter of my former companion and friend. At least, I think he was my friend. My grasp on the concept of friendship is slightly weak as well, and Regal never was one to allow closeness after your death._

_Even now, hours later, escorted safely back to my cottage (for I doubt I would have moved from the spot without aid, such was it's unexplainable hold on me), I still feel an indescribable grief at the loss. I have harbored the notion that it is your grief as well, and such is why it is so strong, but such is impossible to prove for certain. _

_His funeral is in two weeks in Altamira, where he lived and made busy. I intend to attend it, to pay my respects. I will offer flowers, for the both of us. My sister, I am sorry for the loss you have suffered. I can only hope to my fullest that telling you is the right thing to do. _

_-Presea Combatir_

-----

"Chief Fujibayashi, Miku has returned from the Katz Village, and she's come at once to report to you," the battle-hardened voice of Tiga sounded from her doorway, where he stood, as solemn as Sheena had ever seen him. Of course, she reflected nostalgically, this professional, serious façade had been all she'd received ever since she had been elected as chief of the small ninja village. She had grown used to it, yet at the same time, it still pained her to be regarded without emotion for five straight years.

_Has it been that long?_ She mused to herself a moment, her gaze on a spot on the ceiling as she tallied the days, months, years. _Yes, it seems it has_.

"Chief Fujibayashi?"

The ninja startled slightly, her gaze darting back to Tiga, who was letting a hint of disapproval show through his usual blank determination. She brought up a hand to awkwardly rub her neck a moment, before sighing.

"Enter, Miku Siranaki," she commanded, as chiefly as she could muster. That was one thing she'd never grown used to; while the ninjas had the responsibility to follow their chief unquestioningly, their chief in turn had the responsibility to lead unerringly and confidently, and this included seeming as powerful a head figure as possible at all times.

A moment after she called, a slight woman slipped through the door, brushing past Tiga without a glance. Hazel-brown hair cascaded down to the small of her back, though the topmost layer was woven into a series of bands that gave it the appearance of being covered by a net, though the intricate design did nothing but flatter her. Her eyes were a light, airy blue, innocent yet startlingly fierce. One could not tell by looking at her slim, fragile-looking form, but beneath her traditional robes, she was as lithe as even the most experienced of their kind.

Miku Siranaki stepped calmly up to the chair where the chieftainess sat, dropping to one knee and bowing her head, then rising once more, all in one smooth motion. This was a traditional sign of respect for one's superior, in Mizuho at least. The two women regarded each other for a moment, before Sheena allowed an inviting smile.

"What have you brought me, Miku?" She requested, and the other woman shifted slightly, obviously a bit discomforted. Sheena felt a pang of frustration, half at herself and half at the obstinate Mizuho ways. She knew it unnerved the brunette when she addressed her in such a friendly manner, used to her chief being detached and assuming a façade of superiority. The summoner-chief half considered lapsing into the old ways, but the other half, the stubborn half, refused to let tradition ruin even her slight bit of actual human interaction.

After a moment, Miku recovered from her discomfort, nodding in compliance before delving into a status report.

"My trek to the Katz Village was fairly uneventful. I encountered and recorded a few new species of forest-dwelling carnivore, and a couple of variations on already recorded species', though I can assure you none will be a threat. This is a very suitable continent for Mizuho, if I do say so myself, and I compliment your brilliance for selecting it. The Katz themselves were slightly jumpy, though I'm not sure if that's unusual, considering, well... if I may assert my personal opinion, they seem queer on a regular basis." At Sheena's slightly worried look, she hastily added, "no, don't worry, I didn't express that opinion in their presence. Anyways, after some negotiation, they've agreed to keep our location a secret."

"The collateral?" Sheena immediately demanded, and Miku seemed unsure of whether or not said collateral was fit to have bartered.

"We are not to visit the Katz Village at any time without prior permission," the woman relayed the conditions to her chief, whose eyes widened a moment in shock, before she faded into somewhat absent-faced pondering. What could the Katz benefit from the absence of ninjas in their village? Tourists stay there all the time, what different are Mizuhoans?

Miku dropped to her knee again, the appropriate position if one needed to rest in the presence of the Chief. Briefly, Sheena realized how hard she must have traveled to be able to make the trip in such good time. She nodded in acceptance at the other woman's unspoken and unconscious request.

"Dismissed."

A look of relief crossed the face of her ambassador to the Katz, and she rose, bowing slightly once before hastily exiting out through the door once more. The summoner's eyes followed her, eventually coming to rest on the darkening sky when Miku Siranaki was no longer in sight. She rubbed her temple a moment in relief at the sight, for a darkening sky would mean rest and recuperation. She didn't know why, but she'd been perpetually weary ever since their village made it's move two years prior. Mizuho's old location was too widely known, and, though no longer were they enemies to the Meltokians, it unnerved the ninjas to have their location such commonplace a fact. Grudgingly, Chief Sheena Fujibayashi agreed that it would be best for her people, and not even the other Heroes of Aselia knew where it lay.

_Of course_, she noted dryly, _they might if I knew where _they _lay... It's been years since I've seen a single one of them. _And perhaps, as she had often considered, that may be the cause of her weariness, a simple yet complex desire to be around her companions. Those who treated her like a person. Not like... well, like a lesser god.

"Tiga, lock the doors. I'm turning in for the night," she dismissed, rising to her feet and stepping down from her throne of sorts. The man glanced at her in surprise.

"So early, Chief? Are you feeling well?" He inquired, a polite concern in his tone.

_Only as unwell as I've been for the past four years_, she nearly replied, but held her tongue, smiling reassuringly instead.

"No, I'm fine. I'm just a bit tired is all."

"Ah. Well, sleep well," he bid farewell, stepping from the doorway and locking the doors behind him with an audible click. Satisfied, she stepped around behind the chair to a curtain concealed from public view, a deep violet that had once been so familiar to her, back when she was not confined to her crimson Chief garb.

Slipping from said red robes, she was left standing in just a pair of white undergarments and her bare skin, and when she undid the band around her bun, the tips of her hair tickled the middle of her back. She paused and allowed the cool air to seep over her, to refresh the skin that had been so snugly hidden all day. Closing her eyes, Sheena tilted her head back, and for the first time all day, she relaxed. This was a form of basking that _didn't_ require sun.

All of a sudden, she heard a faint _click_. Or _thought_ she did. Freezing in place, the ninja instinctively strained all her senses to their maximum reach, sensing for another being, friend or foe. After a moment of nothing suspicious, however, she relaxed with a sigh of relief. It must have just been her imagination. After all, who would sneak into her humble house at this hour?

"Sheena, I-AAH!" Orochi stepped through the door to the one-roomed house-hut just as he uttered the resident's name, pulling his hood back from his head to reveal a head of nearly-black unruly hair, only moments later realizing his mistake. The summoner in question made a disgruntled squeak of surprise, stepping from her robe at the exact moment she jumped to grab it to cover herself, and sufficiently pulling her earthbound foot out from under her.

"_Oof_!" The air was forced from her lungs as she landed on her butt on the ground, having enough sense to reach up and jerk the quilt from the foot of her bed down to cover herself up before gazing up at Orochi, her gaze a mix of surprise, irritation, and embarrassment.

"Chief Fujibayashi, I apologize, I shouldn't have come to you at this time of night, I-"

"Shut _up_, Orochi!" She cut off his hasty string of remorse, her words holding the same authority over him as if she'd bellowed her chiefly '_Silence!'_ He immediately did just that. The shinobi's mouth shut with an audible _snap_. "You _know_ how I hate it when you use that formal talk toward me! I mean, seriously, imagine getting that exact thing from _every single villager, every single day_."

Orochi paused, slightly surprised. "I... I take it you had a bad day?"

The summoner shook her head helplessly in response, unable to find words to describe the confusion whirling about in her mind. "No no, today was fine. We came to terms with the Katz, and the fight between those two brothers was resolved with both parties satisfied."

"Then... If you don't mind me asking... what's bothering you?" He inquired, and Orochi's concern was genuine. She shook her head once more, closing her eyes and leaning her head back none too softly against the wooden footboard against which she lay.

"It's... it's complicated, really. I am Chief, it's who I am and what I must be, but... I feel..." Sheena trailed off, at loss for words.

"Trapped?" He supplemented, and she nodded. Sighing, the shinobi seemed to hesitate at his next words. "Then I suppose you don't want even _more_ distress to add to your day?"

"What did you come to tell me, Orochi?"

"A body was found, brutally murdered and barely recognizable, in the forest a few miles from Ozette." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in.

Sheena paused, uncertain as to whether she wanted to know, before steeling herself for brutal honesty. "Whose body?"

"It was identified as belonging to 38 year old Regal Bryant of the Lezorano Corporation," he replied unflinchingly, and she gasped, a hand flying to cover her mouth. Though the summoner had never been truly close to the victim, he was still her companion, and her chest ached in dismay. Orochi looked away, at some inconspicuous patch of wall, allowing his chief some dignity in her sorrow. After a moment, she nodded slowly in acceptance, her pained gaze on the floor.

This movement attracted his attention, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "The funeral is eleven days from today, located on the Sky Terrace of the Lezorano Corporation." She nodded once more, yet her gaze did not shift, and she did not make any move to rise from her place on the floor. Hesitating a moment, Orochi stepped forward and knelt down beside her, extending a hand toward her arm to comfort her, yet withdrawing it in afterthought. "I'm sorry, Sheena..." He offered tentatively.

They both knew Orochi was crossing the border between Chief and villager, kind and well-mannered Orochi, and the surprise of it brought her gaze up, where it immediately locked on his. _Why does he look so... hurt?_ She wondered to herself, among the many many other wonderings in her mind. Yet, despite borders crossed and bad news exchanged, she did not speak out against him, put him 'back in his place', as they both knew she should have done. Rather, she wearily sighed and leaned her head down to rest heavily on his shoulder, suddenly unbearably exhausted. She could feel him tense up beside her, surprised more than anything, before at last allowing himself to comfort her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

This was thin ice they were treading, and they knew it, but Sheena at least was too tired to care. She didn't care _how_ strange this would seem, especially to the other villagers, and she didn't care one bit about that strong, unshakable chief she was responsible to be. All she knew was, Orochi was the only friend she had left, and right now, that was what she needed most.

And the shinobi seemed to know that, resting his cheek lightly against the top of her head and rubbing her arm in a soothing fashion. For an uncertain amount of time, the pair sat there just like that, maybe seconds and maybe hours. Eventually, Sheena forced her eyes open, slowly shoved her head upright against the unusually massive pull of gravity drawing it back down, and turned to face him once more. His face was carefully blank, aside from concern and devoted amity, but he offered a slight smile when she turned to face him.

"I'm sorry, Orochi. I shouldn't have-... I mean, it wasn't right of me to-..." He shook his head before she could finish, knowing full well what she was apologizing for even before _she_ did. "...I'm just sorry."

"If anyone should be sorry, it's myself, Chie-," he cut himself off as her gaze flashed dangerously, "-Sheena. I... forgot my place." He assured her, and to his surprise, anger flared up in her eyes.

"Ugh!" The chief fumed in frustration, and he got the feeling his apology wasn't accepted. "I'm sorry for such blunt and unchiefly language, but this _sucks_! I'm stuck out there on that stupid chair all day, every day, I have to deal with every little child whining about their broken toy, and now, as if things could be any more difficult, that stupid code won't even let me have _friends_!?"

As she finished, she roughly shoved her head back against the wooden footboard with a thump, and Orochi flinched slightly. "No, no, I'm sorry, I can't seem to shake that automatic respect that I've been taught since I was born to show toward you. It is my fault, truly. You've told me plenty of times to treat you as I always have, it is I who's always failed to comply."

She seemed ready to object once more, but sighed in defeat, relaxing once more. "Orochi... I care about you. You are my friend. Please... Please, try?" She pleaded softly, and after a moment, he nodded in compliance.

"If only for the fact that I care about you as well-" _If only you knew..._ "- I'll do it. But... but if you call upon the needle torture when I call you by name, I might just have to hurt you." The shinobi grinned slightly at the end, and in return, the summoner returned his grin.

"I'd like to see you try that. We both know I'd kick your ass," she shot back nonchalantly, and they both grinned a moment longer.

A silence enfolded them, yet not an awkward one. This silence, in one another's amiable company, was actually quite pleasant.

"I should probably go," Orochi hesitantly broke the silence, rising to his feet. Sheena nodded, rising to hers again, careful to keep the quilt covering her semi-nudeness.

"Thank you," she softly offered, and, though there were an infinite number of things she could be thanking him for, he did not ask her to elaborate, only offering one short nod of his head and turning to disappear into the darkness of the front room. A moment later, the ninja heard the telltale _click_ of his departure, and she sank down onto her bed. Maybe, just maybe, things weren't so bad after all.

**-----**

"Mighty, you idiot, get the hell up! Professor Clarke called for us an _hour_ ago, and I don't want to be late again just because of _you_!" Fumed a silver-haired half elf, violently shaking the prone form of a brunette a couple of years superior to himself. After another harsh shake with no response, he sighed heavily in aggravation, stepping back away from the bedside. "_I call upon thee in the land of the-_"

"Alright, I'm up, cut it out!" Yelped the now alert Mighty Young as he jerked upright in bed, a hand out as if to defend himself from onslaught. Smirking, Genis ceased his incantation, having never intended to finish it to begin with. With a mutinous grumble as he realized his roommate's trickery, the boy-man lifted his glasses from the bedside table and rose to his feet, a hand at the back of his neck as he stretched out his limbs.

"Y'know, the way you get all squinty and drool when you sleep, you'd have been better off named Mighty _Ugly_," commented the half-elf snidely, seating himself in a nearby chair and putting his feet up on the table. Mighty deftly slid on his glasses before shooting the younger boy a glare.

"Pretty tough talk, considering _your_ name."

"Hah, _Genis_? What's wrong with _that_? I kinda like it myself, it sounds like 'genius'. The Genius Genis," he grinned in a cocky fashion, and Mighty's eyes lit up evilly, eerily similar to a predator with cornered prey.

"_Actually,_" he slowly corrected, basking in his imminent victory, "I think it sounds a bit like _penis_, myself. Genis the Penis? Yes, that sounds about right."

"Is that meant as an insult?" Genis laughed slightly, unfazed. "I'd rather be Genis the Penis than Tighty-Whitey-Mighty Ugly any day. At least mine's _masculine_."

The Mighty in question opened his mouth to argue back, but looked at the clock and shook his head in irritation. He turned and stormed off into the bathroom, leaving a smirking Genis behind him. He turned, his gaze searching for something to perk his interest while his tormentee was in washing the many areas that smelled. After a moment, he caught sight of himself in the mirror by the doorway; and, despite his usual tendency to avoid said mirror, he found himself unable to look away.

His hair had grown out somewhat since he had come to Palmacosta Academy a half-year after the Journey of Regeneration was complete, and it now reached down past his ears, though it was just as unruly as ever. He was taller too, likely due to his half-elven blood. He didn't grow as fast as elves did, or he didn't think so at least, but... Reaching just shy of six feet tall at age sixteen, one and a half feet grown in the first two years after the journey had ended, he was sure it wasn't just 'normal teenage growth spurts'. As well, his face had matured, grown more angular and less childlike. In fact, his entire body had matured along with it, and what was once mostly child-fat was now muscle and such. And his eyes as well... Sure, they were the same icy-blue as they'd always been, but... now, they were no longer innocent as before. And his voice as well had deepened into a manly tenor.

After what seemed like an hour, his roommate emerged from the bathroom, dressed and ready to depart. It was only incredibly bad luck, as well as Genis's incredibly high IQ, that got him roomed with the Academy's former and maybe present top student. Now, though they were several years apart in age, Genis and Mighty were in constant competition to claim the title. So often was it handed back and forth that nobody even cared to keep track anymore, aside from the poor soul who's pay depended on it.

"Alright, it's about time. Now let's get the hell out of here!" Genis declared, leaping to his feet and jogging to the door. But Mighty got there first, swinging it open with a flourish and gesturing through into the hall.

"Ladies first," he offered in a mock-gentlemanly tone.

Genis hopped past him without hesitation, a swift "not this time!" offered over his shoulder. Only moments later did Mighty realize he was being insulted, and by then, Genis was out of payback proximity, jogging hastily down the hall toward the Science Lab. Despite the older boy's attempts to catch up, their destination was close by, and the half-elf still made it to the door a few seconds before him.

"Mister Young, Mister Sage, you're late," scolded a middle-aged yet normally good-humored man who leaned casually against the wall just inside the door.

Genis opened his mouth to apologize, but Mighty cut him off.

"Sorry, Professor Clarke. Next time, I'll be sure to make Genis get up earlier." His voice was genuinely sorry, but only Genis saw that sinister glance from the corner of his eye. And the half-elf humored his roommate, glaring back daggers for a moment, as if this little blame-game was truly revenge enough for his brilliant insult back at the dorm.

"Yes, you do that," their teacher agreed firmly, looking over Genis with slight disapproval. The silver-haired half-elf forced himself to hang his head slightly in remorse, so that the professor wouldn't think him _too_ unruly. To his relief, however, Professor Clarke didn't pursue the matter, turning and striding confidently behind a table in the center of the room. On the table were two vials, bright crimson liquid filling most of the space inside.

"Is that-"

"Blood, Mister Young. This is the blood of a man recently murdured. The body was in horrendous shape, and they sent us a blood sample to see if we could help identify what or who did it."

Genis stepped forward, his eyes locked in intrigue on the nearest of the vials. "How long has this blood been stagnant?" He inquired without looking up, taking another step forward to sit at the table. After a moment, he heard Mighty hastily follow suit.

"Unfortunately, the blood was collected five days ago," informed Professor Clarke regretfully. "However, it's been stored in the best conditions possible, and theoretically, it should only have degenerated the equivalent of twenty-four hours' worth."

"Then there's no time to waste," murmured Genis, pulling a pair of latex gloves from a cubbyhole beneath the table and sliding them deftly onto his hands, where they stretched and contracted to fit almost perfectly. Mighty did this as well, and he hastily reached out to grab his respective vial, attempting a head start.

Many hours passed, and many different tests were conducted. By the end of the day, the table that had once been empty of all but two test tubes was spread with a cornucopia of data sheets, scientific contraptions, and many other testing devices. The two students were so engrossed in their work that they only realized that Professor Clarke had left in the first place was when he reentered through the door behind them, a steaming cup in his hand, which he sipped tentatively the moment he came to a halt beside the table. Right on cue, Genis placed the test tube, now a fourth full, back in it's rack, his gaze shifting up to the Science and Magitechnology Professor.

"These test results are quite unusual, though I can't say for sure if it's not just the long period of time at which it sat before it came to us, or even if it was affected by the materials used to preserve it this long. I detected a strong mana-like force in the blood, but when I attempted to verify it with a small finger-to-finger lightning spell, it was as if a bee had stung my index finger and thumb, the fingers I was using to test. This mana-like force was just that, mana-_like_, but it quite obviously was not mana. Professor Clarke, any input?" He concluded his report with an inquiry, but the teacher seemed too busy processing the information to answer the mage's question. After a moment, he shook his head slightly in disbelief.

"Unbelievable, and frustratingly puzzling. The only thing I could think of off the top of my head would be... anti-mana..." Professor Clarke mused aloud, trailing off at the end.

"Anti-mana? What's _anti-mana_?" Mighty interjected, half to make sure his presence wasn't forgotten. The teacher now turned his gaze on the elder student, offering a knowing smile.

"All matter is made up of two things: mana and anti-mana. When the anti-mana is somehow removed or nullified, mana is released for use. Vice versa for anti-mana," he explained, and Genis's eyes widened slightly.

"So is that how the Giant Tree works?" He piped in, and Professor Clarke nodded in confirmation.

"Indeed it is. The Great Kharlan Tree takes excess matter, uses the Anti-Mana as fuel to help it grow, and releases the Mana into the air. This is beneficial to both it and our races, as it can feast on Anti-Mana, which is twice as powerful as Mana itself, and we end up with all the Mana we can dream of using... Within reason, of course."

The two students were silent, contemplative and fascinated.

"So..." Mighty was either the first to figure things through, or he spoke while still working it out. "Is it safe to assume that whoever this blood came from must have died a very painful death?"

Professor Clarke nodded gravely. "Excruciating, really, for those who haven't been trained to handle it."

"Professor, whose blood _is_ this?" Genis at last spoke up, a burning curiousity in his eyes. Their teacher took a quick glance at a clipboard on a side table, but the brevity of the glance told the students it was only to confirm prior knowledge.

"This is, well, _was _the blood of Mister Regal Bryant. You may or may not know him, he-"

That's all Genis heard. As soon as the name had been uttered, however nonchalantly it had been spoken, his eyes darted to the remainders of the blood in the vial. They remained there, wide with horror and wonder, as whatever the teacher and his roommate had been speaking of drifted past unheard, or at least incomprehended. _This is _Regal's _blood? So that means all the talk of an excruciating death... It all happened to _him_. Why, __**why**__ did it have to be one of the humans I _don't _mind?!_

"_Genis_?" The half-elf snapped to attention, his silver bangs flung to the side as he jerked to face the Professor who'd spoken. "Genis, are you _alright_?"

"Yeah, for a minute there you looked ready to faint. Or at least have a psychotic fit or something," put in Mighty, unable to suppress the amusement in his tone. He received a slight retribution in a stern glare from the teacher, before Professor Clarke turned his gaze back on Genis.

"Ah, how could I have forgotten..." His voice was soft, but offered only the slightest hint of sympathy. "He was one of the Heroes, was he not?" After a moment, the half-elf nodded. "Well, if you care to attend his funeral... It's nine days from today, in Altamira." Another nod, and a melancholy and somewhat awkward silence enfolded them.

"Well jeez, if you're going to be like _this_, go back to our room. I'll finish this mess up," Mighty fumed, but when the half-elf met his eyes, he detected concern rather than anger. And for this reason, Genis Sage didn't argue. He merely nodded, rose from his stool, and stepped out of the room.

Moments later, he was through the room door, and within a few more, he was lying spread-eagle on the first bed he came to. An unexplainable wave of exhaustion swept over him, and, as hard as he tried to fight it off, the half-elf's eyes slowly started to close.

When Mighty Young returned to the room later that day, he found Genis lying prone on his bed. Stepping silently over to the bedside, he raised a hand as if to roughly shove him awake, demand the half-elf trek to his own sleeping quarters... But then, the hand lowered back to his side.

"Stupid half-elf," Mighty muttered, taking one of the disarrayed blankets and roughly jerking it up to cover his sleeping roommate. Night found him in a chair by the window, sleeping soundly. And for once, Mighty Young had not a single complaint.

**-----**

_Professor Raine Sage:_

_I am a correspondent of one of your colleagues, and a great fan of your own, though my name is inconsequential, as you won't remember me anyways. I rather wish I could have written to you on a happier occasion, though if so, I wouldn't have even considered wasting your time, as it seems I'm doing right now. Forgive me, I'll get to the point._

_We have recently located and examined a body identified as that of Regal Bryant, one of your companions in your journey. It was badly mutilated, and there is no clue as to the perpetrator. A representative from Mizuho has been on and off the scene for days and remains unable to find a trace of incriminatory evidence. Blood samples were recently sent to the recently rebuilt academy in Palmacosta, and traces of anti-mana were found. Though I'm uncertain as to what anti-mana is, I know for certain that it's bad news, and I'm hoping that you know more than I do. No, scratch that, I _know _you know more than I do. _

_I'm also writing to inform you that a funeral is to be held in nine days. It's in Altamira. Somewhere called the Sky Terrace... I'm obviously not much of a city person._

_I seem to have relayed all that I needed to relay, and I conclude this memo with a declaration of faith and a pledge of assistance to your research, if you ever venture near my area. _

_Sincerely,_

_LXXXX_

_(oops, almost let it slip)_

* * *

**Spiritua: **Kay, here's the deal. I'm following in the footsteps of my good good friend Morgan and putting all pairings up for vote. So... Yeah. Any pairing works. Main character x main character, main character x side character, two side characters, or anybody with my occasional OCs, or OC with OC, or anything at all. Crack is fine, canon is fine, anything. Just... though it's technically _allowed_, please don't stick me with Colloyd or Shelloyd. :P I am unbiased toward everything else. Oh, and if the character's dead... I'll try my hardest to make it work. If it doesn't, they just won't get over the dead person. Heh. Two votes per chapter, sent in reviews. Can be two votes for billy x bobby, or one for billy x bobby and one for jill x moocow. Yeah, random names, so what. :P Yaoi is fine, yuri is fine... Anything at all. Just don't make up an OC to match anyone with, only use OCs from my ficca. :D In a few chapters, I'll tally the votes and announce the couples. Heh. So... for goddesses sake, _vote_. :P And review! You don't even know how frustrated and discouraged we get when we see 100 hits and 3 reviews. T.T 


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